


Licence to Kill (I'm going straight for your heart)

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Jon bends the knee to Sansa ;), Naked Cuddling, R plus L equals J reveal, Woman on Top, post-boatbang, post-kneelgate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-21 17:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Inspired by @jonsasnow's first kiss headcanon!Title from the Bond song, because the lyrics gave me Jonsa feels :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsasnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/gifts).



> Inspired by @jonsasnow's first kiss headcanon!
> 
> Title from the Bond song, because the lyrics gave me Jonsa feels :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the longest moment he just stares at her, searching her eyes as her heart beats wildly in her chest, forcing a deep blush to creep its way up her cheeks. She licks her lips, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and his eyes flicker down to her mouth.

When the raven announcing Jon's return arrives, Sansa immediately orders the castle to start preparations to give him a proper welcome. As far as the North is concerned, he is still their King, so she'll keep up appearances for now. There was a time her courtesies were the only shield standing between herself and the rest of the world, so she'll resolve to relying on them for as long as she can.

Finally, after all those years of being used and abused, she allowed herself to trust a man, only for him to prove that she never should have. The pain has torn her apart inside and even her rage can't chase it from her heart, it only leaves her feeling even emptier.

Still the thought of hearing his voice again, of seeing his eyes gaze at her softly, the memory of his comforting smell and gentle touch make her heart flutter in her chest, spreading warmth all the way through her frozen limbs.

She doesn't understand, and the confusing feeling only adds to her pain, so she pushes it down and ignores it, steeling herself as she nods for the gates to be opened. She can't spot the Dragon Queen in his company, but the sight of him alone is enough to almost cause her knees to buckle.

***

Relief floods Jon's body as he finally rides through the gates of Winterfell. The tense anticipation of what's about to come is still lingering in his bones, but for now, he can allow himself this moment of joy. Arya is still the same and yet so different, but he embraces her, mussing her hair and calling her little sister and it brings a smile to her face that almost makes her look like the girl he'd once known.

Bran has become a man and there's barely a trace left of the sweet and lively boy that used to scale the walls and roofs of the keeps and other buildings. He cranes his neck, eagerly scanning the crowd for the face he's longed to see most of all.

His eyes find her hair kissed by fire and her regal posture, a blush adorning her alabaster skin, and all the feelings he tried to kill on the journey north come crashing down on him with the force of a thousand armies.

Her eyes are cold and her face is immobile as she dips into a curtsey in front of him. "Welcome back, Your Grace," she says, the words passing her lips in a pleasant, but detached voice he doesn't recognize. His heart sinks into his stomach and ice crashes through his veins.

***

Sansa blinks at her needle. Instead of mending Arya's cloak, she's been staring into the flames for the last half hour. Seeing him was too much. Every fibre in her body wanted to jump into his arms, hold him close, nuzzle her face into his neck, as she'd done that first day at Castle Black, but she didn't. She couldn't. The man who came riding through those gates is a stranger, not the Jon she knew and loved.

Someone knocks on the door of her solar and she hesitates. It might be him. "Sansa?" It's his voice.  _Go away,_ she wants to scream, but she's not a child. She puts her needlework aside, sighing and closing her eyes, hoping that he'll go away if she ignores him.

"Sansa? Please," his voice drifts through the heavy wood again. "Sansa, if you don't let me in, I'll break down your door!"

She rolls her eyes. Perhaps there's still some of the old Jon left, he used to have some dramatic inclinations as a child. She rises reluctantly. She can't have the King forcing his way into his sister's private chambers, that would be highly improper.

She opens the door and turns away from him before she can meet his eyes. "Sansa, we need to talk."

She squares her shoulders. "I don't have anything to say, Your Grace."

He exhales heavily through his nose. If she turned around, she might see him clenching his fists and pursing his lips. "We have issues to discuss."

"Which we'll do tomorrow, during the council meeting."

"Sansa, please, look at me."

She shouldn't, but something in his voice compels her to do so anyway. He's standing there, hair tied back, and intense dark eyes and full lips dominating his face. His lean body's trembling ever so slightly and his fists are still clenched. His lips part, releasing a deep sigh and Sansa realizes she's holding her own breath.

When she lets it go, her armour cracks. "You betrayed the North! You betrayed your people!"  _You betrayed me!_

He swallows visibly. "You told me to be smarter than Father! He refused to bend the knee to Joffrey and he payed for it! With his life!"

She snorts, not caring how unladylike it sounds. Father was in an entirely different position. And she's heard the rumours. If he's really comparing Daenerys to Joffrey, he wouldn't have... "I also told you to be smarter than Robb!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he counters in an incredulous voice. He pinches the bridge of his nose and holds up a hand. "Sansa, I know what this looks like, but you have to understand. I did it to help the North and our people, to protect  _you._ "

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I told you to stop trying to protect me!"

"I can't." He takes a step that brings him closer to her. "With every decision I make, your safety is my first concern."

"Were you concerned about my safety when you fucked her? Or were you just blinded by a pair of dragon tits?"

He flinches back, his eyes widening in shock, either at her question or her language or perhaps both, she doesn't know. "Why do you care so much who I fuck?" he bites back.

"I don't," she insists, looking down her nose. She does, even if she can't understand why. All she knows is that the idea makes her sick to her stomach and sad to the point that she wants to throw herself onto her bed and cry herself to sleep.

She looks up to find Jon studying her with narrowed eyes. "You're jealous," he whispers.

She averts her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You're my brother." She tries to turn away, but Jon grabs her hand and she pivots back into place.

He closes the distance between them, intertwining her slender fingers with his larger ones. She can feel the callouses on his warm palm. With his other hand he tenderly cups the side of her face, brushing some hair back from her temple and ever so gently guiding her eyes to meet his. 

For the longest moment he just stares at her, searching her eyes as her heart beats wildly in her chest, forcing a deep blush to creep its way up her cheeks. She licks her lips, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and his eyes flicker down to her mouth.

His breath washes over her face. It's warm and smells like ale and the venison stew he had at supper. His voice almost sounds like that of a stranger, all rough and thick as he mutters: "If you tell me to stop, I will."

She doesn't. It's as if some force beyond her own will has taken over her body and she closes her eyes and tilts her head back as her lips part of their own accord. Perhaps there's still some of the girl who believed in a hero who would sweep her off her feet left in her after all. Suddenly his lips are on hers and she's enveloped by the confusing warmth that is Jon.

His kiss is soft and tender, but he pulls back before she's truly had a chance to savour it. He swallows her whimper of protest with another kiss and smiles against her lips. Her free hand slides up his chest, over his shoulder and into the loose curls at the nape of his neck. Their lips are still connected, but he's holding still, waiting for her to continue.

She's unsure and if she allowed herself to think, she'd lose her nerve and freeze up, but she surrenders herself to the feeling. Their lips move together and Jon flicks his tongue out, softly nudging her lips apart. His beard scratches her sensitive skin.

She's never really liked ale, but she definitely prefers the way it tastes on his tongue. He licks into her mouth, encouraging her to do the same. Her tongue sweeps over his, flicking up to the roof of his mouth. She sucks his full bottom lip between her own and he slides his tongue back in, his kiss becoming more urgent.

"Sansa," he groans and the reality of who they are and what they're doing hits her. She jerks back abruptly, staring at his wild eyes and swollen lips.

"I shouldn't have," he rasps.

She releases his hand and immediately feels the cold settling in her stomach.

He reaches for her, but she flinches and takes a few steps back, creating distance between them.

"Do not touch me," she warns him, before whirling around and fleeing into her bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa dreams of him that night. When she wakes up, her tears have left salty marks on her cheeks. She curses him to the seventh hell for setting the truth free from her treacherous heart. As she dresses and braids her hair, she pushes it all back down, locking it safely away so she can focus on the task at hand.

The council meeting doesn't go well, as was to be expected. Yet Sansa manages to calm the lords down, reminding them they'll all be leaving for the Wall in only a couple of days. Jon can't quite meet her eyes, but the thanks her. "I didn't have a choice..."

"Perhaps," she replies, smoothing out her skirts as she rises.

"We can't defeat the Night King alone. You know I'm right."

She risks a glance at his face, his jaw is clenched and his brow is furrowed, but she still tries to avoid his eyes. "I do, but they are also right. You should have known. We haven't seen the end of this."

"Sansa, I..."

"Jon," Bran calls at that moment, "we need to speak."

Sansa takes advantage of his distraction to leave the Hall.

***

"Do you realize what this means? The Iron Throne is yours!"

He stares at Bran. "No," he whispers. Perhaps it's true that the young man in front of him is no longer truly Bran, but the Three-Eyed Raven. Bran would understand he doesn't care about the Iron Throne.

It can't be true, and yet, his brother- no, cousin knows things he shouldn't be able to know. On top of that Sam has proof of at least some of it. "It doesn't matter, Jon," his friend assures him, clasping his shoulder. "You're still the same man."

Is he? Eddard Stark was his father. He was Eddard Stark's son. That's the only certainty he's had all his life, but now it's gone. He thought he came back wrong, that he lost something when he died, but perhaps this is who he's always been. Not Jon Snow, but Aegon Targaryen. 

 _No._ When he imagined being a Targaryen as a child, it was Aemon the Dragonknight or Daeron the Young Dragon.

"I need to be alone." He walks out of Bran's room, down the hallways, leaving the family quarters and the First Keep, his feet automatically leading him to the Godswood, even if part of him wonders whether he's still welcome there. 

***

There's no sign of Jon for the rest of the day. He doesn't join them at supper, and the following morning he doesn't come out of his chambers to break his fast. Sansa paces in front of his door, lifting her hand several times, before changing her mind and deciding to leave.

She's startled by a quiet voice. "He's not in there."

She gasps and turns around, coming face to face with Arya. "He's upset, but he won't say anything. Bran promised to tell us, but he wants you there as well."

She follows her sister to her brother's room. He's seated in his wheelchair, close to the fire. "Jon is not our brother," he starts his story, not bothering to greet them. He explains what he and Samwell Tarly discovered.

"It doesn't matter." Arya shakes her head. "He'll always be our brother. Tell him, Sansa."

She blinks, looking from one sibling to the other. "I- I... I don't know how to feel about this."

Anger flashes in her sister's eyes, but she looks away, her head spinning and turmoil inside her drowning out Arya's words. The Lords can't be allowed to know about this. It's a disaster, for Jon and for them, for everyone.

"You shouldn't have told him," she scolds Bran. "He already has so much to deal with! Why did you tell him?"

He remains impassive. "He needed to know. And he needs you. I saw you two last night."

Her eyes widen in horror as she tries to speak, but she can't make a sound.

"When you're both ready, you should go and talk to him."

***

He's not in the Godswood, nor in the crypts. He hasn't returned to his rooms and eventually she decides to go back to her own chambers.  _Perhaps he needs more time,_ she thinks as she's getting ready for bed.

Suddenly there's a soft knock at her door. She takes a deep breath before she gets up to answer it. It's him. "Sansa... Can I please come in?"

She's still hurt, but the look in his eyes frightens her. It's empty and broken, so all she can do is nod and step aside. Without a word, he walks straight to the window to stare at the falling snow.

He's still family. He's a part of her and she loves him, even if she doesn't understand that love, that visceral urge to protect him. _We're wolves_ , she muses, but he's also a dragon, and the thought awakens a fierce desire inside of her to claim him, mark him as one of her own, to show him where he belongs.

His unseeing eyes stare out the window, barely blinking, blinded by the images inside his head. Suddenly she wraps her long, slender arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mutters. "Are you still angry?"

He removed his jerkin when he came inside, meaning that her answering sigh presses her breasts against his back through the thin barriers of his tunic and her nightrail. He swallows and tries to ignore the feeling.

"I am," she whispers hoarsely, "but I think you need a friend right now."

He frowns at her choice of words. "A friend? Is it that easy for you stop calling yourself my sister?"

"Is that what you want me to be?" she huffs. "Your sister?"

"I don't even know who I am anymore."

She presses a kiss to his shoulder. "You're still a Stark."

He shakes his head. "I never was."

"You are!" she insists.

He'd tried to do the right thing, stop himself from making an unforgivable mistake, convinced himself it was the only way. "I wish I'd never gone to Dragonstone. Look what a mess I made..."

He finally turns to face her. She looks so soft with her skin and hair glowing in the firelight, her eyes no longer cold, but sad. "Why did you go?"

"I was running away," he confesses.

"From what?"

"From you."

Immediately, pain flashes in her eyes and he grabs her hand before she can pull up her walls again. "Ever since I saw you again that day you came to me at Castle Black, my feelings for you have never been brotherly, and I despised myself for it. I was afraid, so afraid that I wouldn't be able to hide it much longer, so I ran."

He tried to flee from his inappropriate feelings for his sister, who is not his sister after all and tried to find comfort and relief in the arms of a woman who turned out to be his aunt. And even before he learned the truth, he knew it had all been in vain as soon as he'd laid eyes on Sansa again.

"There must be gods after all," he muses, half-serious, half-joking. "Look at how they punished me."

He sighs and squeezes her hand, looking up at her wide eyes and parted lips. "Now you know."

"Now I know," she repeats, licking her lips. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries to ignore the heat coiling in his groin. This has to be enough. He gasps, panting as he pauses to take in her darkened eyes, her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips, surrounded by the halo of her messy hair, before claiming her lips again. The memory of her face looking like this, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her hair and skin and the taste of her lips will be enough to carry him through the Long Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is a bitch, but I finally did it: here's chapter 3!

Sansa stares at him as he closes his eyes, rubbing his jaw. "I'm sorry about what I did the other night."

A lump rises in her throat.

"I thought I'd destroyed those feelings. I promised myself to be a good brother, but when I saw you... And then you gave me a spark of hope and I..."

Sansa's shoulders relax as she releases a breath, but she tries to keep hope from spilling from her heart. It occurs to her how difficult it must be for him to put all of this into words.

"I'm sorry for forcing my unwanted attentions on you," he concludes.

She shakes her head, pursing her lips to force back a smile. She shakes her head. "You did no such thing. And your attentions are not unwanted."

His eyes light up.

"I was simply..." It seems such a silly word to use, because nothing is simple. "I was hurt and angry and confused."

He nods. "I feel so lost right now."

Sansa fears she'll drown in the whirlpool of emotions she's barely uncovered and she can see that same struggle reflected in Jon's eyes. Despite her own pain, she cannot blind herself to his and she's overwhelmed by an irresistible desire to hold him, comfort him and wrap herself so tightly around him, sharp edges and all, to make some of that pain go away.

After a long pause he adds: "But I'm also happy. I'm here with you."

He is. For now. Soon he'll be gone and it's all too much. There's simply no time to deal with all of this and perhaps it would be wiser to ignore it, but for once, just for once, she doesn't want to think. She wants to feel and do, take whatever she can, no matter how little it, is and not care about the consequences.

So she begs him: "Please, kiss me again," almost wincing at how small and needy her voice sounds.

But if Jon notices, he doesn't seem to care, he just closes the distance between them, holding her gaze as he places a hand on her hip and a thumb on her chin before covering her mouth with his own. His fingers lightly brush her cheek and jaw and earlobe as his lips move gently and cautiously.

His hand is barely touching her hip, but it's deliciously scorching her skin all the same. She feels like she's drowning, but she doesn't fight it, she gives in, resting her hands on his chest, trusting his body to keep her grounded.

Jon tightens his grip on her hip, pulling her closer and uses his other hand to unravel her braid. Sansa tilts her head back, exposing her long white throat and he leaves her lips to nip at her chin, kissing a trail down her throat and back up her jaw to nibble at her earlobe. The little sounds of surprise and delight falling from her lips send a liquid warmth running through his limbs.

He tries to ignore the heat coiling in his groin. This has to be enough. He gasps, panting as he pauses to take in her darkened eyes, her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips, surrounded by the halo of her messy hair, before claiming her lips again. The memory of her face looking like this, the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her hair and skin and the taste of her lips will be enough to carry him through the Long Night.

Suddenly he realizes her hands are no longer steadily planted on his chest, they've travelled up and her fingers are toying with the lacings of his tunic. "What are you doing?" he groans. There's only so much he'll be able to take.

"I want to see you," she breathes against his lips.

He shouldn't allow this to go any further, but he's suddenly overcome by an impatient desire to have her hands on his skin, so he gently pushes them away to remove his tunic, tossing it away.

Her eyes grow large at the sight of his scars. She licks her lips before splaying her hands on his ribs and leaning in to press a kiss to the scar over his heart, making him shudder.

She moves lower to repeat it with all of his scars. Her warm breath ghosts over his navel and she flicks her tongue into it. He quickly pulls her back up. In her innocence she's pushing him too far, too fast and he doesn't want to lose control.

She takes his hands and places them on the lacings of her blue night-rail. He glances up at her face. She's biting her lip, but her eyes are full of determination. He holds her gaze as his fingers deftly set to work. Her breath grows shallow, but she doesn't blink. Still not looking away, he pushes the robe off her shoulders until it pools at her feet. 

She moves back as she steps out of it and he finally allows his eyes to take her in. Her eyes are shy and a blush adorns her face, but apart from that she still looks like a queen, standing regal and tall even naked. Her ivory skin gleams in the firelight as his eyes trace her long curves. Her nipples are the same colour as her kiss-swollen lips and the curls covering her mound are a couple of shades brighter than those on her head.

He tries to ignore the angry red lines on her belly and thighs, not wanting anyone else, especially not him, to intrude on this moment and he decides the best course of action is to replicate her treatment of his own scars. He takes a step forward and falls to his knees, resting his hands on her hips.

He moves his lips over every scar on her stomach, taking his time, before lowering his head to her thighs. He kisses the lines there too, but gets distracted by the scent of her cunt and he can't stop himself from nuzzling her curls. She squirms away and grabs his hand, pulling him to his feet, her hands flying to the lacings of his breeches.

He helps her get rid of them and kicks off his boots. Her shoulders sag a little, so he takes her hand again and leads her to the bed. He climbs on and scoots up until he's lying on his back. He opens his arms in invitation and she follows him quickly. As she settles against him, he wraps an arm around her, curling a hand over her shoulder, and kisses her forehead. 

She's so soft and warm and perfect in his arms. He still can't smother the voice inside his head that insists he's only making things worse by giving in, but nothing has ever felt so right since he came back from the dead. Perhaps now is not the time to think. Perhaps he can allow them to just be in this moment, he muses as his hand caresses her thigh.

Sansa reaches up to lace their fingers together and cards her other hand into his hair to guide him back to her mouth. Their kisses are only interrupted when she feels Jon's smile against her lips and answers it with her own.

She thinks she could keep kissing him forever, but there's an unfamiliar tightness building under her skin, causing her to pull hard at his curls and squeeze his fingers against her shoulder. He groans as a frustrated mewl escapes from her throat. He shifts them so she's on her back and trails his fingers up her thigh until they're resting next to her mound. He searches her eyes and she lets her legs fall open. 

He cups her sex, sending a strange sensation through her core, before sliding a finger between her folds. "Gods, you're wet, Sansa," he groans as his forehead touches hers.

She feels as if it's something she should be ashamed of, but his voice betrays that he likes it so she bumps their noses together and pulls her knees up involuntarily as the tightness in her bones converges where Jon's hand is moving between her thighs. An unfamiliar ache starts building, morphing into a tautness that stretches her body as tight as bowstring.

His finger is circling a throbbing nub at the apex of her thighs that has her bucking against his hand and he kisses her cheek before rasping into her ear: "That's it, sweet girl, come on."

The delicious ache builds and builds beyond the point where she thinks she can't take it anymore and suddenly it snaps. A wave of pleasure crashes through her body and a white light explodes behind her eyelids. She releases a sigh, unaware until then she's been holding her breath and squeezes her thighs shut.

Jon gathers her in his arms and holds her tightly, but she doesn't feel close enough. She can hear herself panting, her heart racing in her chest, only loosening her grip on him when she's come down from her high. Slowly she becomes more aware and feels his hard manhood pressing into the flesh of her belly.

He's achingly hard and leaking by the time she wraps her long slender fingers around his length. He can't help it, he bucks into her hand and groans. He forces his heavy eyelids open to find her studying his face, wetting her lips as she strokes up and down his shaft.

She's not clumsy, but she's too careful, so he covers her hand with his own to help her tighten her grip and keep a rhythm. He rolls onto his back, winding his free hand into her hair and angling his head up to kiss her. With her body pressed to his, her soft hand wrapped around his cock and her breathy kisses it doesn't take long before his balls start tightening up.

She moans his name into his mouth and that's what sends him over the edge. His hips stutter, arching off the bed as his climax soars through his body, his seed shooting onto his belly in sticky hot spurts, his cries muffled by her kiss.

He groans at the loss of contact when she removes herself from the bed, but she returns quickly to clean him up before curling into his side.

When his breathing has returned to normal, his heart no longer trying to beat out of his chest, he rolls onto his side and pulls her in for another kiss. The night is still young, but the morning will come too soon.

They've both found their pleasure, but now they've come this far, he's not letting her go before he's tasted every inch of her skin. He'll put his mouth on her, and make her whimper and moan and beg, convincing the both of them that they can live in this dream just a little longer. 

***

The cold grey light of dawn filtering through the windows wakes Sansa from her peaceful slumber. A pleasant soreness that has her limbs feeling oddly light keeps her confined under the furs. A mild ache and a lingering stickiness between her legs are more proof that last night was not a dream. She doesn't need to open her eyes completely to know that Jon is still in her bed.

She trails a hand down her neck, over her collarbones, following the curve of her breasts and circling her nipples, tracing the path his lips followed on her skin.

She blushed a deep red when his mouth travelled even lower, almost wincing at the wanton sounds that escaped her lips when he shouldered her thighs apart and licked up her slit.

But she reminded herself she'd given herself permission not to think and allowed him to kiss and lick and suck, slightly wondering about such a wicked thing being possible, but then he closed his mouth over the nub his fingers had found earlier and the capabality to form a coherent thought left her.

She remembers him groaning and humming as he coaxed peak after peak out of her, leaving her boneless, as if he was enjoying it even more than she was.

She remembers the way his eyes darkened when she pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, surprising herself with her boldness.

She used to think she'd never be able to suffer having a man inside her again, but when she lifted her hips to sink down on him, letting him stretch her open only felt good.

He kept babbling about how beautiful she was and how perfect she felt as she tried to figure out what to do. He didn't try to rush her, only gently guided her movements when she put his hands on her hips.

He watched her, until she begged him to touch her and his hands roamed over her skin before he sat up and gathered her in his arms so they could move together.

She peaked one last time like that, his mouth on her neck and his fingers working just above the place where they were joined. Only moments after, he released his seed inside of her, whimpering her name into her skin like a prayer.

The night inevitably came to an end and now she has to make a choice. She opens her eyes. He looks so young, with his face relaxed by sleep and his hair in a disarray of curls created by her fingers pulling at it as he kissed her between her legs.

Last night was magical, but the morning has brought back the mess that is their life and their kingdom and there's only one thing that counts: she has to protect the pack. It's up to him to decide whether he's still a part of it.

He can tell she's awake by the the way she's breathing, but he's not ready to open his eyes yet. Last night was better than any dream he'd been able to conjure up, but he fears that the look in her eyes or the set of her mouth will shatter all of it without a word.

He rolls over until his cheek is resting against her shoulder, his arms wrapping themselves around her waist. "Jon," she croaks and he sighs. He knew she'd be the first to break the spell.

"Please, don't," he murmurs.

She manoevers herself onto her side so she's facing him. "Do you regret it?"

 _No, no, no, of course not,_ he wants to tell her, but he can't read her eyes, so instead he asks: "Do you?"

She shrugs. "No, I don't. Answer the question, please, Jon?"

"No," he whispers, "I don't regret it. It felt right."

She nods, still not betraying any emotion. "But?"

His face pulls into a frown, but he can't fool her, even if he would have been able to stop himself from allowing the thought to creep its way into his mind. "I shouldn't have spilled inside you. I might have...

"There are ways to avoid that," she sighs. "Do you think it was mere luck that stopped me from conceiving during all those months with Ramsay?"

Her lip trembles when she mentions that name but her eyes are hard. He takes her hand and she cups his cheek, her eyes softening . "But perhaps I won't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll have to make a choice, Jon." Her voice is steel again. "We can't keep this secret forever. You may be a wolf as well as a dragon, but you've given the North enough reason to question your allegiance, so you'll have to choose."

"No," he starts telling her. Everything he did, he did for the North, to protect his home and his people, to protect her. "I told them, I'll never stop fighting for the North."

"They won't see it that way."

He closes his eyes, rolling onto his back. He's not sure why she's changing the subject, but he decides to humour her. "What do you want me to do?"

She takes a deep breath and he turns his head to see her propped up on her elbow, looking down at him. "I hope you put a babe in me last night, Jon."

"Sansa," he gasps, confusion and shock warring in his mind. "How can you say that? How can you hope I've dishonoured you like that?"

She brushes a stray curl from his temple and offers him a small smile. "There will be no dishonour if you marry me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing!


End file.
